For The Love of Women

I love being a woman. 

In spite of injustices perpetrated since the dawn of time, I wouldn’t give up being a woman for anything. 

Perhaps my love of my own body—my flesh, my breasts, my hips, my womb, my ability to create life—persuades me. Perhaps loving my mother, my daughter, and my granddaughter makes me biased. Perhaps my unconquerable commitment to protect life turns me into a warrior. 

It’s true, many important people in my life are ladies. But there is a bigger story, more universal, that should connect all of us to our love for women. None of us would be here without them. 

Mainstream religion’s creation stories have a male god calling forth light from the darkness to bring life into existence. But what do we imagine the Dark was, in the first place? The Mamma, The Cosmic Womb, The Matrix of Existence.

Don’t get me wrong, I love men, and male deities, and men get to do their part in seeding life, but it is a woman’s body who brings that life into the world—whose labor pains and cries pave the way for that infants first breath.

Every blessed set of eyes that will read these words was grown in the dark, warm void of their mother’s womb. No matter the station in life to which we may arise, or conversely, fall, we all arrived on this earth helpless and dependent on the care of a woman. Not every mother is benevolent, nor will every woman become a mother. Regardless of her station, race, age, or history every woman has the right to live a life, unmolested, in pursuit of her own fulfillment, dreams and goals.  

I don’t want to turn this into an ode to motherhood, quite the contrary. Women are valuable on their own merits as autonomous beings. Motherhood is not required to justify the existence of our bodies; we get to be here for ourselves. We are not required to produce life to make our lives matter. Women’s lives matter independent of what we do or not do. And for many of us the true test our mettle is not in doing, but in allowing, receiving, and resting. Yes, we (women) have the power to run the world, but sometimes we just need a motherloving nap!

Then there is the question of women’s voices: To speak, or not to speak?

Even when women do speak up, we often go unheard or are gaslighted for our feelings and opinions. Regardless of the difficulty in getting my own voice out (at times), and my point across—I will not stop speaking up. I will not stop writing about topics that make me uncomfortable. I am devoted to the word, the word has power, perhaps (as famously stated) the word has more power than the sword.

I will also honor my silence.

In as much as women can makes waves with our voices, there are also wells of wisdom in our silence. And no, I do not mean the passive aggressive form of communication known as “the silent treatment” (men can do this, too, by the way). I mean a woman may find great strength in quietly listening to the whisper of the wind, the growl of her belly, or even her the bubbling and dripping of her own blood. There is undeniable power in a woman’s silence.

Sometimes women speaking up isn’t the problem; it’s people not listening. And we (women) find ourselves asking (over and over) what will it take to make our voices heard?

I once had a close friend cross a line with me. Too many women have been put in the same position. I was never not clear as to where our actual friendship stood; he just chose not to hear me. When I received the text that made it utterly apparent that his fantasy was muddying reality, how did I feel? Unheard. And I had spoken up repeatedly. He just didn’t want to hear what I had to say.

When discussing statistics for rape, domestic violence, women missing, and women murdered—it is always as if we have done these things to ourselves. We “mysteriously” disappear or are bludgeoned, etc. Statistics somehow fail to mention that it is men who are raping, beating, trafficking, and murdering women. We aren’t committing these crimes against ourselves; men are doing it, men who don’t love us, and who don’t respect us. The same men who once crawled from the hallowed cave of their mother’s wombs are perpetrating vile acts against women. 

This is not me pointing the finger at men and saying, “You’re all monsters!” Far from it. This is me wanting good men stand up for the women they love, and that means being willing to also tell other men, “Hey, it’s gross when you talk about a woman like she is an object. It’s not a joke.”

If we dedicate a day on the calendar to women, does that mean that misogyny, wage inequality, and domestic violence will suddenly disappear? It doesn’t. We need more than nods to long, overdue progress. We need a complete cultural attitude adjustment.

Violent acts do not come out of the blue, they too are birthed in darkness—a darkness that breeds violence ignorance, confusion and pain. When those things are allowed to fester they become an epidemic. 

Compassion is not turning a blind eye to suffering, nor is it allowing the continuation of toxic behavior. On the contrary, the practice of compassion includes calling out and ending suffering when possible. And we all bear that responsibility.

Most of all we, women, need to claim our worth, regardless of stature as mothers, wives, or some extension of a man in our life. As women, our worth exists independent and inviolable to the whims of society. We all need to teach our daughters to say, no! when they are uncomfortable, and to stand in their, yes! to speak up for who they are, what they need, and what they believe in.

It has been said, that man was created in God’s image. Perhaps. It is, however, undeniable that we cannot exist without women, without the blessed bodies that grew us, and to the sacred body that we will all inevitably return to.

Let Her Be.

If you love a woman let her be.

Let her spill out of the tight packaging she’s been stuffed in.

Let her wisdom pour from her body, fierce and fiery kindness from her eyes and fingers.

Let her hips teach you the ancient ways.

Let her love nurture life, soul and body.

Let her shake and quake!

And never forget…

She doesn’t need your permission.

Author: Justice Bartlett

Image: Nantu DAS